


A Twisting Tangled Nest

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Power Dynamics, Sexual Coercion, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Relationships: Galen Erso/Orson Krennic
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

The ‘fresher units were always mildly grim, and Galen wasn’t sure if it was a feature of the lighting or just of the tiling. It was rough to be naked, vulnerable in this space, but Galen had forced himself to become more comfortable with the idea. Not showering was worse than showering, in the end, and Galen knew it was important. Still, it felt like programming a droid rather than caring for himself, and Galen closed his eyes as the water jutted from the spout. 

Bathing was slow, almost painful. He sponged himself gently, but there wasn’t much to do with the soap and his skin. Suds appeared, then disappeared, unable to last long without Galen’s efforts. He kept himself still, willing himself not to fall asleep, and tried to muster the impulse to turn the water off.

Before he could reach out, another noise interrupted his haze, and he tensed to hear the door of the ‘fresher opening. He’d turned away from it, but even as he straightened, a hand came to his shoulder, gripping him firmly.

“Galen.” Oh. That voice. He’d forgotten that Orson was on base. “Galen, you’re--” An adjustment, and a low grunt. The refresher door slid closed again, and another hand slid onto Galen’s waist, slick with water coursing down his body.

Galen’s eyes were open now, but he stared straight ahead, watching the blank tiles of the refresher walls. Orson was warm. Very warm. His hand wandered, tracing the lines of Galen’s waist, and Galen felt himself--no,  _ allowed _ himself to push into the sensation ever so slightly.

“ _ Yes. _ ” Orson always grabbed. Both hands tightened, letting the edge of nail bite into Galen’s skin. Galen tilted his head back, exposing his neck to the stream of water, and exhaled slowly as Orson pressed his own body closer. It would be funny in other circumstances. Galen forgot how short Orson was, but he could feel now the brush of hair against the middle of his neck. Orson was leaning over, head resting against Galen’s spine. 

As that hand crept further forward, Galen wondered if he should move more. But Orson didn’t seem to mind, and so Galen waited again, feeling rather than watching how Orson’s hand came to his navel, then searched lower to find Galen’s pubic hair. The sensation was stimulating, Galen could hardly deny that, but the contrast of warm and cold made him shudder.

“Mm, you like that?” Orson’s lips were warm too, warmer even than the water. Galen angled his neck, letting Orson kiss at his shoulder blades, eyelids fluttering as Orson’s hand began to move more rhythmically. “Needy little thing.  _ My _ needy thing.”

A ‘thing’. That’s what he was. Galen’s heart lurched, and he jerked once into Orson’s hand, biting back a whine. It had been a long while. A long, long while. And he was warm, and gentle,  _ oh _ so gentle, how could Orson be so gentle with his hands? How could Orson be so gentle when his lips, his words were so harsh? A mystery he’d never solve.

“I would never let anything happen to you. You know that.” Orson was talking, still talking, but Galen knew: when he got like this, when Galen was hard in his hand but Orson was still talking, it was only half to Galen at all. “You’re my little thing. I have to keep you safe.”

This time, Galen allowed himself the whine, feeling it ache in his throat as Orson stroked his erection, thumb finding the glans and teasing it earnestly. Oh, Orson was always earnest.  _ Always _ .

“It all depends on you, Galen.” Orson was groaning now, his own arousal pressing against the back of Galen’s thighs. “You have to know that, you have to know.” His other hand slid over Galen’s chest, brushing the dark nipples nested in Galen’s chest hair. “You’re so  _ special _ , Galen, so special, so  _ perfect _ . I can’t let you leave, I can’t let you go--”

Galen nodded once, pressing back just enough to encourage Orson onward. Orson’s arms tightened around him, holding tight, and Galen keened as that grip grounded him. No more white tiled units and gray blobs of rations and rain on transparisteel, no, just  _ warm _ and  _ Orson _ around him. He trembled in that grip, Orson’s words lost in the thunder of the water and the rush of blood in his ears, and Galen could feel the heat in his cheeks as tears were washed away by the refresher’s flow. 

“Galen!” Orson shouted, hips jerking against Galen’s buttocks, and Galen matched his cry with a warbling moan of his own. Orson’s hands grasped and gripped and tightened, and Galen curled back as his cock pulsed with his release. The white-on-white was impossible to see, but Galen hid his head, staring down at his cock held in Orson’s hand. The flesh was pale and pink, warmed by the water and arousal, and Galen felt his head swimming as Orson continued moving. 

It might have been a few moments, it might have been a lifetime, but eventually Orson stood on tiptoes and pressed his lips to Galen’s shoulder, biting down with a moan as he spilled his semen over Galen’s rear. Neither man moved for several moments, the water tracing across them both, but eventually Orson slid his hands down again, withdrawing from Galen’s body, and Galen closed his eyes again to hear the ‘fresher door open and shut once more. Once more, he was alone in the water. Once more, he was staring at white tile.

He ached, even worse than he had before. Now he was empty. 

He hoped Orson would be on base for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

Galen was pleased with the course of the day. They’d been working through another batch of readings from Coruscant, debating the validity of specific testing conditions, and he’d actually managed to convince the other engineers to listen to his ideas first. It was so simple, he believed, so straightforward and clean if they could just make the items fit, but he had to convince someone at each step of the way. That was tedious.

A humming, a buzzing from his comm unit made him jump, and Galen cursed the interruption as he withdrew from the console before him. Documentation was the project’s lifeblood, and he appreciated the utility of recording each step. He was forced now to turn his attention, finding his comm pip and press it into his ear, accepting the call.

“Galen?” It was Orson. Yes. Galen blinked, impassive, and listened as Orson hummed something incoherent on the other end of the line. “Galen, Galen, you there?”

“Orson.” Galen didn’t quite make it a question, but his voice held the lilt of inquisition, and Orson responded with a rough ragged groan. 

“Galen. I just.” There was muffled movement at every pause, received in the pickup without difficulty. “You’re…”

Galen waited patiently, refusing to betray his confusion by asking a question, and eventually Orson resumed. “Hey. How...How are things? On Eadu? Still rainy?”

“It’s raining, yes.” Galen blinked, shifting back in his seat. “I’ll have project updates within forty-eight standard hours, if you want them.”

“Mm. Yeah. Yeah, the project--listen. How are  _ you _ , Galen?”

Damn. Orson was in a talkative mood. Galen’s face remained impassive, but his heart sank with the realization. “I’m fine.”

“Good.  _ Good _ . I mean, I want you to be okay.” Orson was so damn close to the mic now, his breathing slightly labored. “I like you, Galen. I like you a lot.”

“I know.”

“You’re really special. To the galaxy, sure.” Orson grunted, apparently shifting position. “But to me too. I need you to know that. But you’re so bright, so  _ brilliant _ , you...you already knew.”

“Yes.”

“With your lips and your hair, Galen,  _ fuck.  _ Do you realize what you have? And that mind of yours, that brilliant little lump that turns out  _ results _ , Galen, results! You’re the full fucking package, wrapped up in that perfect uniform--reminds me, gotta have it ironed. Do they iron them there? I’ll get you an iron.”

“I don’t need an iron, Orson.”

“Yeah.” Orson murmured, clearly distracted, and Galen closed his eyes in resignation. “You’re mine, Galen, you know that. ‘S why I take good care of you. I don’t want anything,  _ anything _ , to happen to you. You’re too important for that.”

“Orson--”

Orson interrupted again with a low moan, and Galen opened his eyes to stare blankly at the screen in front of him. “ _ Galen _ .”

A heartbeat of waiting. “What time is it there?”

“Time? I dunno. It’s late. Pretty late. Everyone else...is  _ sleeping _ .” Orson added in a mock whisper, humming to himself. 

“You’re drunk.”

“No!”

“Orson.”

“Well.” Orson shifted again, the full register of shuffling coming over the comm. “I get  _ lonely _ , Galen.”

“Orson.”

“You make it sound so  _ nice _ .”

“Orson, I--” Galen felt his breath catching, the hesitation that prevented him from continuing, the sudden rush of pain that nearly made tears prick in his eyes. He froze, locked in place, even as Orson cooed to him.

“I  _ miss _ you so...so damn much, Galen.” Orson’s breath was heavy, his voice lowering. “You know that.” Galen remained silent, swallowing thickly past the knot in his throat. “You know that I’d be...I’d be nothing without you, I’d be nowhere. I  _ need _ you, Galen. I need you.”

Galen was not sure  _ why _ he could not move. He’d heard all this from Orson before, rephrased and arranged in different patterns. But he listened all the same, keeping the comm pressed to his ear, absorbing each rough sound as it was transmitted. 

Orson groaned again, the sounds of movement and shuffling intensifying. Even as he listened, Galen felt himself flushing, a warm rush of near-pain that shocked him as it developed. “Orson.”

“ _ Yes _ , Galen. Yes.” Orson was moving, humming and moaning, each noise piercing Galen’s chest. “You’re--”

“Are you--” Galen couldn’t even bring himself to ask the question, though the image was all too clear in his mind. A lonely, desperate Orson Krennic, naked in his tiny quarters, cock in his hand as he called Galen in the dark. 

Galen wondered where Orson might be: if he was still on Coruscant, surrounded by the nightlife, or on some mining planet with nothing but the comm for company. It didn’t make much of a difference, in the end. Orson was still the one on the call, and Galen could hear the need, the wanting. It surprised him, yet it matched everything Orson had ever told him.

“You’re so  _ good _ , Galen.” Orson groaned lowly, the rough edge of arousal audible now. “ _ Fuck _ . You’re so good, so perfect, perfect tight ass and body.” Galen was transfixed by his own shame now, frozen in his seat as Orson went on. “I think about you, Galen, think about...your voice, sometimes, your eyes. Did you know that? Your eyes, at night, sometimes I see them if I focus hard enough--and then you, the way you look at me sometimes. You know how to make a man feel  _ special _ , you know, really special.” Orson grunted, the comm rustling as he adjusted it. “Galen. Galen, you’re a little--gah, a little  _ tease _ sometimes, though, hiding beneath that uniform. Where are you, on Eadu? All those nice corridors, just enough space for someone to grab your ass, make you take a cock right between your legs, your perfect little hole just  _ waiting _ for it--”

Galen felt his body twinging, his muscles clenching at the mere thought. It was a promise Orson could more than make good on--an implied possibility that filled Galen with a treacherous warmth. He bit his lip, restraining any possible noise, and pressed the comm harder against his ear.

“Would you moan? I bet you’d moan. You moan like a little slut when you’re ready, all tight and squirming when I use my fingers. But you’d have to use your mouth first. Would you do that for me, Galen? Wrap your lips around my cock, take me in until you gagged?  _ Fuck _ , you’d look so good like that, ready and waiting and stuffed to the brim.” Orson hissed in a breath, panting against the comm pickup. “Fuck, Galen,  _ fuck--” _

Galen felt a shuddering breath echo through him, nearly in time with Orson’s pained, wanton moaning. Galen didn’t have a perfect picture of what was happening, but Orson’s expletives and sudden intake of breath gave him clue enough, and Galen held himself taut as Orson’s noises became positively  _ sinful _ . He’d seen it happen in the flesh, of course: Orson’s body quivering, those nonsense words pouring out in a ceaseless babble. Orson liked to grab when he came, tugging on Galen’s hair or squeezing Galen’s ass. Would he grab himself, perhaps, alone like that? Galen could almost feel the sting of nails in his skin, the deathgrip of Orson’s orgasm. 

“Galen?” And then, even with that, he was back. “Galen. Galen, are you--”

“I’m here.” He confirmed dully. He had to swallow to ensure his throat was clear, but Orson cooed to him with pleasure, murmuring sweet nothings as he again adjusted the comm. 

“Galen, sweetheart, I…”

“I’m here.” Galen heard himself repeating, namely because his brain could not provide any alternatives. He was not a man well-suited to introspection: his mind was a terrifying place, and the void was all too close at hand. Orson was still cooing to him, saying something nice and tender, but Galen felt himself unfocusing, growing distant.

“I miss you, Galen.” Orson murmured, his voice lowering to a pleasant softness. “I miss you so much.”

“I…” Galen forced himself to sit up, to refocus on the screen in front of him. He had to get back to work.

“I’ll be there soon, Galen. Wait for me, won’t you?” Orson cooed to him, dismissing the call with a diminutive beep, and Galen shuddered as the connection was cut. He felt himself go slack in his chair, hand shaking as he plucked the comm from his ear, and finally tossed it onto the desk in front of him to stare at it, black and tiny. 

Nothing had...Nothing had happened. He was fine. Orson wasn’t even on the base. And yet his heart was racing, his muscles complaining from tension, and he had no recollection of the results he’d just been studying. Galen rubbed at his face, forcing himself to readjust, and grabbed for the desk to steady himself. He still had work to do.

Yes. Yes, that was the goal. Work to do. Galen nodded, grasping at this stability, and returned once more to the screen. Now, if he could just access the results from their latest configurations...


	3. Chapter 3

Galen wished, sometimes, that he’d specialized in physiology. He enjoyed a puzzle, a mystery, and his brain was suited for those uncertainties. Perhaps if he’d done that, he could answer why he still felt this churning inside him.

Orson had not visited in some time. Galen had been allowed to work, unhindered, and Orson hadn’t pestered him for updates. It was a better situation than usual. But yet here he was, lying awake as the rain lashed against the outer viewports, unable to sleep as his mind raced.

He had worked very hard on self-improvement. Lyra had helped him, had taught him what it meant to take care of himself, but that had all changed. He hated himself as he curled up in his bed, his hand coming to his lips so that he could bite at his thumbnail. He worried the skin, sucking gently at the fleshy part of his thumb, and moaned to himself, hating the sound of his own voice. He felt disgusting: worthless.

He missed Orson. He missed Orson so much. 

His other hand wandered, sliding between his legs, adjusting his sleepwear to allow him access to his bare skin. Even as he sucked gently on his thumb, he moaned deep in his throat, curling in on himself. It wasn’t just him: Orson could do this for him. Orson had done this. Orson always knew what he needed, just enough ferocity and aggression to keep him in line.

He couldn’t speak, not with his thumb in his mouth. But he moaned, thinking Orson’s name, finding himself getting harder against his hand as he tried to focus.

In fairness, he did this infrequently. He did not often feel a  _ need _ for masturbation. He’d gone for years without it, not through self-denial but through sheer forgetfulness. But the ache helped. The burn, the gnawing, it had brought him this far. The darkness of his quarters swallowed him up, but he could feel his own penis half-hard against himself, shifting his legs to let the sensation run through him.

Oh, he was bad at this. He whimpered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut against the darkness. He wanted something else, something beyond whatever was happening to him, he wanted--

He wanted Orson. He wanted Orson’s hand on his shoulder, Orson’s hand on his cock, Orson’s mouth on his mouth. He wanted Orson to tell him what he was doing. He wanted Orson to tell him he was a good boy, that he was making Orson happy, that he was doing something right. With his eyes closed, he could almost pretend he was somewhere else. Or even, perhaps, that he was some _ one _ else, someone who was not Galen Erso and trapped on Eadu like this. This person was much better than Galen Erso. This person was not afraid of touching himself, stroking his own cock and shuddering with the feeling. 

He wanted Orson. Galen stroked the length of his erection, the sensation sparkling through him, hot and close. His body responded despite himself, his mind wavering in a confusion of thoughts and ideas. Part of him wanted this. He thought that was good. It wasn’t the best, but it made his heart hammer in his chest, his breaths coming more quickly.

He sucked on his thumb, his other hand working furiously between his legs. It was like feeling the heat of an afterburner, distant and yet consistently intense. Galen twitched, trying to remember what Orson might say to him. Would Orson come into his bed? He hoped for it. He  _ wished _ for it. Just to have something else to grab, something that wasn’t himself, and show him that he wasn’t quite alone.

His hips jerked into his hand, and Galen whined to himself, twisting in his desperation. Orson would help him. Orson would--

He cried out, pushing into his hand, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cock. Galen’s hips shifted, his blood pounding in his ears, and he came over his hand with a desperate gasp. His vision sparkled, pleasure rushing up his spine, and he trembled and mewled as he caught his breath. He was unsure how long it took, the process working through his nerves, but finally he felt himself collapsing in renewed exhaustion. He’d made a mess, now, tangled among himself.

Sleep was not so difficult, in the end. His face hurt and his body hurt and his chest hurt, but he could sleep. And that, perhaps, was worth it.

+++

Orson descended from the shuttle with an energy that would benefit a Holo-Net star on Coruscant, except that his audience was composed of the security guards and engineers of the Eadu station. He kept his hands on his hips, his uniform ironed and badges polished, and smiled tightly as weary faces turned to him. He scanned them momentarily, disappointed, then moved into the hallway connecting the hangar to the larger reception area. He did not have to go far before Galen Erso appeared, eyes sunken and skin pale, and Orson’s smile grew a fraction larger. 

“Ah. Engineer Erso.”

Galen stumbled forward, reaching for Orson, and Orson waited until the very last moment before reaching out to catch him. He could feel the weight of Galen’s body, the tension in his grip, and Orson made a soft noise of approval as Galen shuffled forward. 

“I  _ missed _ you.” Galen’s voice was hoarse, almost husky, and Orson ignored the shiver of interest it sparked in him. Even so, he gripped Galen’s forearms, listening hungrily for Galen’s small noises.

“Galen, it’s good to see you.”

“I want you to visit.” Galen finally seemed to realize that they were still in public, and he pulled his arms back, hugging himself tightly. “It’s...good to see you.”

“Let’s take a look at some of the output numbers.” Orson decided, moving to take Galen by the upper arm and direct him down the hallway. He wouldn’t be too terrible to Galen--that soft, desperate tone was worth a heaping of praise--but they still had work to do. His hand remained on Galen’s arm, leading him onward, and Galen remained close to Orson’s side. Yes, yes. Galen had earned a reward for this. Orson smiled proudly, standing taller even as Galen hunched beside him. Tonight, perhaps, they’d come to an arrangement.


End file.
